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216 POEMS AND SONGS
*T is the giant we must master,
Till he work our will the faster.
He shall carry, though he clamor,
He shall haul and saw and hammer,
Turn to light the tumbling torrent, —
All his din and rage abhorrent
Shall, if we but do our duty,
Win for us a realm of beauty.
IN THE FOREST
Lisr to the forest-voice murmuring low:
All that it saw when alone with its laughter,
All that it suffered in times that came after,
Mournful it tells, that the wind may- know.
WHEN COMES THE MORNING?
(FROM IN GOD’s WAY)
W uen comes the real morning?
When golden, the sun’s rays hover
Over the earth’s snow-cover,
And where the shadows nestle,
Wrestle,
Lifting lightward the root enringéd
Till it shall seem an angel wingéd,
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
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